


Those were the days

by AkaiShinda (Ayleid)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-07 11:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayleid/pseuds/AkaiShinda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slice of life, beginning with Genji and how he gradually got to know McCree. More drabbles will be posted under this title, more characters, tags and warnings will be added later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                _Those were the days._

Voices cut through the lingering darkness at the corner of his eyes. An old gramophone hissing some vintage tune on a worn out guitar and flute, legendary melodies carried through the ages on a slightly cracked yet miraculously working disk. If he hadn't known any better, he wouldn't even look for the usual, low-key mechanical murmur of the medical bay enveloping his form or the faint blur of classical music. This, whenever he heard the guitar’s muffled strings singing, this calmed him more.

"Listen," the man around him began, he heard the telltale creak of shifting tanned leather. "All of this takes a lot o' gettin' used to."

His hearing sharpened all of a sudden, the whitening blast of sharpness overwhelmed him yet a large and warm hand steadied him again on the bed, the touch carried as much force as it reflected worry and tenderness. Scavenging for air, his entire body flexed and yet the strange, old music's static vibrations soothed his thoughts to ground himself once more. His friend was here, his warm hand still and holding gently around his collarbone, thumb pressing just a bit more.

"But you will get used to it..." the friend carried on, as the severely injured man gradually came back to his senses; the cracking noise of the gramophone and the rhythmic guitar accords seemed to help. A faint smile crossed the tall, travel-worn man's charred lips as his eyes soaked in the bitter view of his comrade. His sigh rolled with the strings of the guitars, silver yet heavy with the smell of spicy cigar smoke.  "After a while."

Static and high pitched ultra-sound cracked into his skull once more, spiced with the recognition of his own pained yell. The American caressed him one more time with his palm pressing down, thumb wiping imaginary dust off him. The static decreased... and the ultra-sound ceased. He could breath.

"You'll miss some of ya' things like we all do."

"We're taking a break, keep him awake Jesse," Angela calls with wavering voice and Genji feels another wave of uncertainty hit him; the instinct to turn his head is denied by the simple yet terrible incapability of controlling his own body. So he lay, wondering for a split second until an electrifying shudder ran through his spine.

"Now, ho there. I'm not leavin' you alone. Take it easy,” the sweet, Southern roll of soothing came again from McCree, he could hear him shift and the leather creak once more. “I ain’t leaving you here. They’d have to smoke me outta here like roach from the barn.”

Opening his eyes suddenly seemed too demanding, intimidating almost… the familiar sting of pain returned around his furrowed brows. His skin, muscles and sinews weren’t healed yet for the simplest gestures and yet he yearned to see, to look and recognize the expression belonging to the owner of the voice. The way he could ooze familiarity, fondness and even though Genji only saw his outlines earlier, he would’ve been content just to see the bright crimson colors again.

The warm palm on his collarbone shifted, followed by the deep, rumbling noise coming from the American. Clearing his throat, the larger man moved closer.

“When your hands are done, we’ll play poker or canasta. I’ll teach you and don’worry I’ll go easy on ya.”

Genji puffed at that, he could handle himself at poker! With a slight furrow of his brow, he huffed again and Jesse replied in a low chuckle.

“’ey, I knew you still got some fire in you. They’re almost done fixin’ your hearing. Angela will only run some tests and adjust it a bit more to help your reflexes come back to ya. Next is… eh, you won’t like it partner, but I can leave the old Morricone disk here for ya. I see you’ve taken some fancy to it.”

If he could’ve laughed that time, Genji would have been so grateful to whatever string that pulled at the cogs of fate. But he couldn’t. He could barely breathe through the machines aiding him. The soft rumble in his chest vibrated and proved too violent for his current state: with a cough fitting for a choke through the tubes, the young man quickly forced his body to succumb into stillness again. The humiliation reached him not half a minute later and behind the scarred, shut eyelids he turned his gaze away from his friend.

“Now now, easy,” he heard again, the warm, smoky grumble. “All’s fine. You’ll get there. You just hold on tight and we’ll be here to meet’ya halfway.”

_There were three things he missed the most, Genji remembered him sitting by his side, cards in both hands and unlit cigar hanging from his lips. The roadworn, spicy yet warm man called McCree. Folding his cards in one hand, he looked the young man straight in the eye and chewed on the cigar one last time._

_“One. Not having to cover my trail all the time._

_Two. Ah, they never wait anyway. Forget about two._

_Three. Albuquerque’s construction work. I’ll be damned.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree brings a guitar.

McCree could produce music out of two shells and his sense for rhythm for his friend’s entertainment; this Genji learned when the man brought an actual acoustic guitar to the labs and played for him, humming gently on his voice corroded by ash and alcohol.

  
Even without his eyesight Genji sensed how out of place the American was in a sterile, meticulously arranged medical bay (or laboratory as he bitterly dubbed it) in his simple casual clothing, hair in disarray and unlit cigar shifting from one side to another. Angela frequently called him out on that, scolding McCree as if he was an unruly child who forgot to wear his socks once again, and without failing McCree always replied in the same loving, apologetic fashion. Of course he would never light the cigar, it’s just there for his own pleasure.

  
In normal circumstances, such interaction would happen elsewhere, Genji wondered; on a porch between old childhood friends, a moment by the fire in the evening as part of a caring, equally cherished unity. And many on the base already had that; with Genji soon becoming the newest member only seemed to draw them closer to one another like an intangible rope guiding them to the reminder, how dear they held the other Overwatch members. United in cause and bound by battle worn companionship.

  
“See, I got her at the flea market. She’s gonna be good to us both, figured you could use some actual vintage over there,” McCree went on, plucking at the strings to test the chords and adjust them one final time. Then (a telltale sign of him preparing to stand), he inhaled sharply and grunted with effort. Without moving the slightest, Genji heard a metallic click then shuffle of papers. “Here we are, some good ol’ songs I dug up. The printer put on a fight though and they’re quite small so I hope you don’t mind if I stack them on ya?”

  
For a rhetorical question, McCree held on a few seconds before actually spreading the notes on the hospital gown covering the young man in front of him. Genji slowly raised an eyebrow, slightly trembling and experimenting his limits yet, hoping for his friend to notice. He had a plan. The pain was stinging at his skull, stretching his sinews and muscles but it was bearable. When Jesse was done, with a tilt of his head he shifted the cigar to the other corner of his lips and hummed in satisfaction with his own work.

  
Filled with doubts and fearing for the incoming jab of pain, Genji stilled his mind into an instrument of sheer willpower to carry through his next task. With the lifted eyebrow… perhaps he could imitate a blink.

  
“So… This one’s an old favorite of mine. ‘Farewell to Cheyenne’ by Morricone. If ya like this one and Angela is still away, I’ll whistle when I play the “Fistful of Dollars. ‘reckon she doesn't like whistling.”

  
A throaty, hoarse chuckle followed as McCree lingered on his nostalgia, “I learned this back in Santa Fe you see. Those folks knew how to play with a room full of fine people.”

  
With that, he began to play and the young man instantly felt the soothing, tranquilizing wave of familiarity envelope his mind. McCree was probably born with gun in one hand, guitar in the other, he mused and if he could smile… if he could just signal his appreciation in any way… Genji wished, longed to reward his friend with such gesture.

  
Perhaps that was why he forced his thoughts into a standstill once more and embraced concentration.

  
Genji took a longer breath through the tubes and pulled his eyebrow down, deeper than the casual position would be. Deeper, down until he felt the slight burn of scorched skin touching, crumpling on his left eyelid. He refused to allow the slightest tremble of anxiety even if he knew what would happen if the delicate, thinnest veil of skin would break again.

  
He could move an eyebrow, the awe hit him. The paralysis he lay in would soon be over…?

  
An easy, meandering melody danced in the air around the medical bay, unhindered by the grim state of the young man and the constant hum of machines. McCree played, hummed and tapped with the heel of his boot on the pure white tile, his mind and soul captivated by the twirl of accords braiding his memories into a bittersweet yet joyful performance. Sinking and carried by the steady, uplifting flow of his friend’s song, Genji let the cowboy paint with his imagination and help him succumb into an easy state of floating joy, listening and following his tunes.

  
For these short yet invaluable periods of time, Genji was riding with McCree through the New Mexico plains with the scorching desert wind in their faces and a dusty rugged town growing smaller behind their backs. Life was dangerous but good. McCree wouldn’t leave him behind. They would get into gun fights, hide in barns and hitchhike on trains. Ambush bandits in abandoned cemeteries where they’d dig the treasure up together! He’d watch McCree’s back and could count on the cowboy to cover him at six too.

  
McCree wouldn’t leave him behind.

  
What a team they would make, bounty hunting and sleeping by the fire with worn leather saddles serving as pillows, out in the open! They’d share blood in fights, money from loot and good whiskey.

  
McCree wouldn’t turn his back on Genji. He wouldn’t abandon him.

  
Jesse wouldn’t leave him to die.

  
Even with his jaw strained to repress the ache clawing at chest, the smallest of whimpers left his lips at the quivering breath he took through the tubes. His eyes watered behind the scorched, unmoving eyelids. Last time he put such faith in someone...

  
_Burning flesh, flames clawing at the sky. In paralysis, his own blank mind, counting down his own life. Staring at the night, no sky, no stars. In ash and smoke, judgement’s been passed_.

  
The gentle flow of music came to an abrupt stop as the American quickly set the instrument aside and swifter than an instant, stood right beside Genji’s form.

  
“Wow, easy. It’s all fine, I’m here. It’s all good,” one large hand, a warm palm was perhaps by instinct pressing tenderly into his collarbone to ground Genji’s mind and steer it back to the present. As if Jesse knew right where the soaring pain erupted. “No need to get emotional over ol’ Morricone. Man's tunes are legendary, I feel ya.”

  
To Genji’s momentary surprise however, when McCree recovered a sterilized puff of cotton ball, his other hand did not waver upon reaching down and hover with the ball just above Genji’s skin for the cotton to absolve the growing salty moisture and the drop of tear.

  
“There there, easy. I’ll play the Fistful of Dollars aw’right… you have a way with me, kiddo. That’s such a classic I’d be embarrassed if ya wouldn’t be able to whistle by memory by the time you get outta here. Well. That sounded better in my head, my apologies, buddy.”

  
McCree cleared his throat and settled back on the chair beside Genji’s bed. From the following sounds, Genji knew he picked his guitar up again. For a few moments his nails danced on the wooden surface in an improvised rhythm and as if for his sake, time seemed to still around them.

  
“Perhaps it sounds empty to you after hearing it so many times but you will get better,” the American breathed through a long, troubled sigh. “It will get better. Some might say I have the wits of a box of rock for telling you this but, hold on for a little longer. You’ll get better, Genji and until then, I’ll just be here and play the best songs I can dig up for you. That’s a promise. All you have to do is hold on tight, and we’ll meet you halfway. There ain’t nothing that could hurt you this bad again, partner."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the positive feedback, I appreciate your kindness a lot. I hope you continue to like these... Drabbles, although I noticed a clear chronological line in them already. I'm editing and writing more. :)   
> Thank you for reading, all suggestions and comments are welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you liked this shortie, if you have any comments/suggestions let me know them! :) Thank you for reading.


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